


Spring Returns

by thesecondseal



Series: Acts of Reclamation [6]
Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Chess, Developing Relationship, F/M, Falling In Love, Friendship, Grief/Mourning, Love, Past Relationship(s), Romance, Sex Talk, Sisters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-08
Updated: 2015-08-08
Packaged: 2018-04-13 15:32:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4527549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesecondseal/pseuds/thesecondseal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Before she left for a long winter away, Essa confessed her demons to Cullen. The cold months apart were surprisingly good for both of them. Letters and stories were exchanged. Healing and support structures were found among their friends. Spring returns to Skyhold bringing new allies and old memories amid Essa and Cullen's reunion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Wishes We Dare Not Make

“I’ve been thinking a lot about your problem, boss.”

It was early morning. Too early for anyone else to be awake; I was surprised when Bull joined me. We had met up with him and the Chargers outside of Haven and were aiding in whatever rebuilding and relief efforts we could while we waited for spring to thaw the mountain pass. I crouched before the dying fire, one hand on the side of the heavy iron pot, reheating last night’s stew for our breakfast.

“Which problem is that?” I asked.

The camp was still quiet; I could hear a harmony of snores from the circle of tents. The horses moved gently amid their pickets, soft sighs and familiar rustles. Geri snorted once to let me know he was awake.

“The sex thing.”

 _The sex thing._ I almost laughed at his phrasing. The Qunari were admirably practical about sex; I had found in Bull a confidant without judgment or restraint and with far more opinions than I had. I knew he was a problem solver, but I didn’t expect him to be quite so determined to help me with mine. Last night, I’d told him that I was content with celibacy. It was the only wise recourse with cravings as dangerous as mine. He hadn’t looked pleased, but he had dropped the conversation. It looked like we were back to it. And before I had my tea.

“I think you’re going about this all wrong,” he informed me.

I did laugh then. “Well, of course  _you_  do.”

He grinned easily, taking no offense where none was intended.  He crouched down beside me.

“You fear your desires,” his voice pitched low. “And you give them too much power over you.”

I shook my head, unable to speak. I knew the dangers of fear. Once, years ago, I had considered a different path for dealing with mine, but I hadn’t been able to go through with it and later I had been glad.

“There is nothing wrong with what you want,” Bull told me earnestly.

“Maybe not for someone else,” I argued, doubt creeping where doubt should never have gone. “But my desires incinerate people.”

Because a truth that important bore repeating.

“No,” Bull compelled with heavy quiet.

Long taut moments passed in the way of the fire. I glanced down at the pot and yanked my hand away from  glowing iron. “Bull—“

“Essa.”

He did a reasonable mimic of my tone. I stared stonily into the waning darkness.

“Your body’s reaction to your desires incinerated someone.”

I turned my face from him, hoped he couldn’t see the turmoil that threatened to choke me.

“Look at me,” he ordered softly.

I wanted to deny him; I knew he would wait as long as was needed for me to meet his gaze. I turned back to him, trying to hide in the pre-dawn shadows, but he still saw whatever it was he was looking for.

“Your desires don’t have a casualty list.”

Each syllable felt like a body blow. I jerked my chin in instinctive denial, and stared at him, shocked mute.

“I’ve watched you for the better part of a year now,” Bull said easily, as if he weren’t knocking my foundation from beneath me. “You still wince at even the most casual touch. For some of us, you try to check the recoil, but in all that time, there have been only two people whose hands you don’t flinch from. Fin.”

His tone suggested Fin didn’t count. “And Cullen.”

I glared at him, but Bull kept right on talking. “You don’t reach out either, you know. Not like most people. Not unless it’s a horse, or barn cat. You do alright with children, but we don’t see many of those.”

I stirred the stew, scraping the wooden spoon along the too hot edge to make sure it wasn’t sticking.

“Are you going to make a point sometime soon, Bull?” I asked waspishly.

“I used to think you just didn’t like being touched,” he said, passing me an empty bowl. “Figured it was something in your nature or your past, didn’t make much difference to me, but that last night in Skyhold—“

“When I was too drunk to stand?” I interjected.

“Yes,” he agreed. “And too drunk to yank your hand back for fear of burning someone every time you touched them.”

“I do not!” I gasped at the accusation. I filled his bowl and passed it back to him with more force than needed. “I actually don’t like touching people.”

“I used to think that about you too.” He leaned back, crossed his feet at the ankles, and stirred his stew around so that it would cool. “Thought you just weren’t the affectionate sort. No harm if that had been the case.”

He shook his head at me. “But you’re a fierce softy, Trevelyan. You love like a mabari once you’ve chosen someone.”

I was fairly certain that I was insulted.

“You ever loved so many people as you do right now?” Bull asked.

It was a ludicrous question; I crossed my arms over my chest and sank back on my heels, away from the fire. Away from him. The retreat pulled me immediately from the defensive.

“You’re right,” I admitted softly, staring into the pale ashes before me. “Until I found myself in Haven, I couldn’t have filled my hands counting the two-leggeds I have loved.”

I counted them now. My father, my sister, Fin, Diar, Prin, Erik, and Hope. Aubreg, I thought. Ours had not been an easy love, but it was there and I had let it shape me.

“And now?”

I couldn’t stop my sheepish grin. Now I was surrounded by people I loved. Most of whom I believed loved me. There were a few I was less certain about, but I didn’t mind.  I was still a political convenience after all, and besotted or not, I didn’t take myself for a complete fool.  Nor did I hold it against them. I could love without being loved in return. I dragged my legs up before me, wrapped my arms around them for comfort.

“Now, I actually feel like I have a two-legged family,” I mumbled. “You and the Chargers…you’re a little bit of the home I lost.”

Bull reached out with one arm and grabbed me without warning, dragging me to his side and tucking me close in the shelter of one massive bicep before returning to his breakfast. His forearm banded across me just below my neck. I should have felt trapped.

“And look at you not tensing,” he teased, dropping a kiss on the top of my head. “Continue.”

I relaxed against him with an exasperated sigh. “Do you want me to name everyone?”

Bull laughed. “No, I think you get my point, and I remember most of the ones you shouted at in the tavern. You’re an affectionate creature, boss. You say your childhood wasn’t lacking and I won’t argue that point, but Ostwick?”

He didn’t tell me what I already knew, that nearly a decade in the tower had taught me that a person’s touch preceded either violence or the passionless promise of my end. Since Diar’s death, I had given my touch only with reluctance.

“So now what?” I asked, drawing myself from my memories with a deep breath.

Bull’s arm squeezed gently.

“Now we teach you to trust yourself. I’m not saying I’m going to get you between the sheets with anyone anytime soon, but maybe the next time you leave Skyhold you can give Cullen a proper kiss goodbye. I saw that pathetic peck you planted on his cheek,” Bull added knowingly.

”You saw nothing,” I said, driving my elbow into his ribs hard enough to elicit a grunt. “Nearly a year’s madness that I am thankfully over.”

“Are you really?” Bull asked.

Over Cullen? I thought. No. I wasn’t over Cullen. Despite months of exchanging letters that at least seemed to indicate he wasn’t considering having me made tranquil, I still wasn’t sure what I would find when I returned to Skyhold. I would never forget the betrayal in his eyes when I confessed my demons, and though I couldn’t think of a better time to have told him, I couldn’t absolve myself guilt for not having told him sooner.

No, I wasn’t over Cullen. I wasn’t over the way his breath felt on my neck or the cold defiance in his tawny eyes as he held me against him. Our bodies aligned too perfectly, and months later I was still too easily distracted by the recollection.

“Yes,” I sighed, answering Bull and myself. “I am.”

I would no longer allow myself to pine over a wish I had never had the courage to make.


	2. Crocuses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen-centric drabble as he waits for Essa's return. Pretty sure this is absolute fluff. 748 words.

Cullen hummed softly. It was an old hymn, one not currently in fashion, even in the most backwoods of Fereldan chantries. His grandmother had been fond of the low, slow exaltation; most days he could only remember half the words. But he remembered the tune shimmering in the morning sunlight as she hung linens to dry on the line behind her small cottage. And he remembered the lemony-lavender scent of white elderflowers as she gathered them in the crisp, white skirt of her apron.

_When I look down from lofty mountain grandeur…_

Cullen smiled. It was one of the few lines he remembered. Apt, he thought, pausing in his end of day routine to stare out one of the narrow windows at the Frostbacks. Winter hung heavy and glittering white upon the mountains. While Skyhold weathered the wind and the cold, Essa was in southern Orlais, decidedly not enjoying the warmer weather as she pursued the Venatori. Of course, if he knew her—and Cullen thought he did well enough—she was doing as much community service as anything else. Her letters were filled with an energy and ease that she had not shown since they reached Skyhold. He hoped that being out in the field had at least temporarily relieved her of the burdens of being Inquisitor.

She promised to return with the first sign of thaw. Cullen dipped his quill in water, carefully cleaning the nib on a soft rag before placing the writing instrument in the top drawer of his desk. He stoppered his ink well, cleared his blotter of parchment and sat for a moment, staring down at his last reply to her. It was as close to a declaration of his intentions as he had yet to make and he wasn’t certain if he should send it. He had meant what he said when he told her that he valued her friendship, and if that’s all that ever lay between them, he would not count it a loss.

But then she had kissed him.

It had been such a simple thing really, a gentle press of her lips to his cheek before she swung up into Geri’s saddle. Only moments before she had hugged Fin tightly, dropping exuberant kisses on the smith’s face just to watch him squirm beneath the attention.

_“I’ll be home soon,” Essa said, still laughing at some order Fin had given her._

_They had all gathered to see Essa and her party off. The Inquisitor’s relief at embarking on another quest was palpable,the air in the courtyard almost festive. Essa called a handful of frivolous orders to Josie and Leliana that had everyone laughing._

_In the press of farewells, Cullen found himself standing with barely a breath between them. Geri shifted his weight, shoulder pushing Essa forward a step. Cullen caught her elbow to steady her._

_“I would like to write to you,” she said so quietly that he bent closer to hear her._

_“I would—I would like that,” Cullen replied when he caught up to her words._

_She turned her face, breath whispering over his cheek before her lips stumbled, warm and gentle over the rough scratch of his jaw. Her hand fumbled in the fur of his collar. She swayed, body pressing against his for half a heart-beat._

_When Essa pushed herself away from him, her eyes were just a little too wide._

_“I have to go,” she said, distance growing behind her smile._

He had worried that she had placed another barrier between them, but her letters had arrived every other week without fail, and Cullen had replied just as faithfully.

A soft knock interrupted his thoughts.

“Come in.”

The door rattled slightly, before opening. Cole could rarely be troubled with such mundane things, but for Cullen he seemed willing to make an exception. Cullen tried very hard to take the concession for the kindness it was, but his suspicions were old and powerful.

“She said someone should tell you,” Cole said in his near sing-song tone.

Cullen didn’t bother asking who.

“Tell me what,” he asked patiently.

“Purple bursts through the cold,” Cole said, as if that explained everything. “Spring’s little herald.”

Cullen smiled; for once he wasn’t having trouble understanding Cole’s speech patterns.

“Are the crocuses blooming in the garden?” he asked.

Cole nodded. “Bright jewels among the dust like diamonds.”

“The passes will begin to thaw soon,” Cullen told him.

“And the light will return to Skyhold,” agreed Cole.


	3. Cari Trevelyan: Masks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Character Intro for Essa's sister.

When she was a child, Cari thought her mother was the strongest, most clever, most beautiful woman in all of Thedas. She was tall, with graceful curves, and a sure step that did not waver for all its delicateness. She was unfailingly patient with Cari. Loving and affectionate. Cari followed her everywhere, hoarding her mother’s wisdom in her heart until it could scarce contain its admiration. When she sat beside her mother on the small tufted stool before Lady Miranda’s vanity, Cari often noted the similarities in their features with joy. And when her father said, in that soft sighing way of his, that she looked so like her mother, Cari took his words as highest accolade. One day, she thought, she would be a great lady like her mother. 

Cari learned how to make people feel loved and welcome by following her mother’s example. She learned how to care for others, how to anticipate needs and make herself available at just the right moment. She was Chantry bound from before she could remember, wanting only ever to serve the Maker and his children in Andraste’s name. Her mother told her that an honest tongue was worth more than gold, one of the few lessons Lady Trevelyan imparted to Cari’s sister as well.

Cari did not see into her mother’s heart until she was old enough to recognize poison.

“So you’re going?” Miranda asked tremulously, legs tucked beneath her blanket, hands resting in her lap with a fine affected tremble.

Her hair was curling softly over one shoulder, threads of silver and blonde catching the light from the window and reminding Cari of her mortality.

“It is one of the few gestures that she will appreciate,” Cari said resolutely, tugging on her gloves with swift, elegant movements. “I imagine she will send back appropriate recognition. It will not do for our house to garner such whispers as we have. You have spoken ill enough of Andraste’s Herald.”

It was an argument that they had often, but Cari had no patience for it today.

“She was not the Herald then,” Miranda defended.

Cari’s smile was as sharp as her blades and just as hidden.

“But she is now,” she replied calmly. “And having her favor acknowledged publicly could make all the difference in my marital prospects.”

Her tongue nearly tangled around the final pair of words. Cari smoothed the edges, breath whispering out to rid herself of their foul taste. Marriage, at her age. It was ludicrous, but if it got her out of her mother’s house and onto a ship, she would entertain such madness and more.

“I am sorry.” Miranda held out her hands and Cari took them. Her mother’s skin was cool and fragile, like dough stretched too thin over Cari’s childhood idealizations.

“It is nothing,” Cari assured her. “I know my duty. I carry it gladly.”

Her penance.

“I love you more than anything,” Miranda said softly, tears standing like broken truths on the edge of her voice.

The timorous grief fell to quiet, delicate sobs. Lady Trevelyan was a consummate crier, and a pretty one. Tears slid in stately procession down her gently sunken cheeks.

“I love you too.”

But the lie lay like ash on Cari’s tongue. If she ever went to Orlais, she thought, she would not need a mask.


	4. Cari Trevelyan: Shadows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part two of Cari's intro

Cari had never known freedom, but as she stood on the deck of the  _Prydwen,_ she could taste it on the salt laden air, feel in the unfaltering breath of the Waking Sea. She had dreamed of dashing pirates once, with the plaintive yearning of adolescence’s unfurling.  During her years in the Chantry, Cari had nurtured her fantasies of a home upon the waves in quiet cloaked moments stolen for herself before sleep.  A swashbuckling crew and sundrenched adventures, a hundred ports filled with exotic bazaars and heady spices.

For Essa it had been the sweeping romance of chevaliers.  Coursers and chargers and noble codes. The Herald of Andraste…Her little sister. Cari stared into the coming dawn and wondered how much the last year had changed her. The half-feral warrior philosopher had languished in the Tower at Ostwick. Cari knew she should have been a good Andrastian, but in the year that Essa was missing, she had hoped vainly that her sister might find some band of wild apostates to give her sanctuary. It had broken her heart to see Essa trapped by theology and stone. Was she bound to this Inquisition, or had she found some semblance of autonomy? They had both spent their childhoods longing for lost horizons in their own way.

 _Maker, forgive me,_  Cari prayed,  _but I hope Essa has found some measure of peace amid this war._

She knew it was foolish, and selfish, to limit her prayers to one soul when so many suffered. She added that to her long list of sins. She wasn’t quite the heretic Essa had always been, but in some ways, she felt she was worse. Cari had found too many truths in her sister’s heart long before Andraste chose her. Cold comfort, she thought, when history might redact Essa’s divine favor, paint them all in stains of sacrilege.

Cari paced slowly toward the ship’s prow, each step one of careful dignity. Her hand glided along the smooth railing, her glove properly silent, a scant imagining between her palm and the wind scoured curve. She knew what they saw when they looked at her. A lady with more money than sense and her family’s endless coffers.  Her gown was deep blue velvet, the thick fabric a deference to the cold that still plagued her early spring journey. The classic lines were cut to flatter without popular judgments of vulgarity, and the hue turned her grey eyes toward twilight’s violet mist; they looked less like her mother’s when she stared into her looking glass. The artful slashes in the long skirt showed under-layers of dark amethyst. Her gloves and her long leather coat were nearly the same color.  The scarf around her neck was a tapestry of pansies. She had finished it just that winter.

They did not see the knives concealed within easy reach, nor the jeweled stilettos that held the artful arrangement of her waist-length hair. They saw only pale skin, cheeks flushed from the brightly chilled morning, lips painted like a bruise.

Essa was fire and sometimes—though she did not seem to know it—she could be the stunned, echoing calm at the center of a typhoon.  But Cari? Cari stood in perpetual storm and shadow.

And she would not be moved.


	5. Memento

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Essa’s return to Skyhold doesn’t go quite as expected. 2153 words. Cullen and Essa. Some angst. OC death mention. Grief and healing.

“There’s no use speaking with the Inquisitor at present,” Josie told him.

Her voice was as neutral as she could make it, but there was a clipped edge that echoed off the stone walls of the war room. The ambassador was worried; they all were. For the past three days Essa had abandoned all but the most domestic of her duties, refusing to join them at the war table. During the day, she could be found working in the stables, or hauling water and firewood for the kitchen staff. For the past two nights, no one—not even Fin—knew where she had slept.

Josie was the most flustered that Cullen had ever seen her.  Since arriving at Skyhold, Essa has proven a devoted leader, taking on almost too much responsibility. For her to shirk so many of them without a word had even Cassandra rattled.

“I cannot even guilt her into ceasing these ridiculous chores,” Josie exclaimed, pacing across the war room, candle flickering out on a sharp turn. “Because of the Inquisitor’s peculiar relationship with the staff, they are not the least bit uncomfortable with her company. I tried to tell her that the cooks would not be at ease with her underfoot and she laughed at me!”

Cullen hid a smile. Laughter was a good sign. Essa was prone to mirth and she had been too somber of late. The tone of her recent letters had worried him.

“It was  _not_  her usual laugh,” Josie clarified with a delicate shudder.

Cullen frowned. “What do you mean ‘not her usual laugh’?”

There had been no time for the two them in the days since Essa’s return. Cullen was a patient man; he had been content to wait until she settled in after the long winter away. Essa had appeared tired when she, Solas, Varric, and Blackwall rode into the keep, but otherwise in good spirits. She had sent him note promising to catch up with him when everything calmed down, but on her second day back at Skyhold, something had happened. And no one knew what.

Cullen had let his insecurities convince him that that she was retreating from him. That she was imagining pressure where there was none. He should not have given his personal feelings the greater claim. Essa was a mage. A hard knot formed in Cullen’s chest. There were far worse things to make her act so differently.

Cassandra followed Cullen’s thoughts too easily. She grunted at him in negation. 

“Relax, Commander. She has not been possessed by a demon from the Fade.”

Leliana rolled her eyes.

“Indeed,” she agreed. “May Andraste preserve us from demons who want to clean stalls and help out in the kitchens. The Circles would be overrun with petitions. Every house in Thedas would want an abomination of their very own.”

Cullen sighed, but the edge of panic still lingered. “Have any of you spoken with Fin?”

“Of course we have,” Josie snapped, the uncertainty was wearing upon her most heavily.

“The Inquisitor’s ambassador is as stubborn as she is,” Cassandra remarked dryly. “He has simply said to give her another day to…think. He also recommended not using the word ‘sulk’ in regards to the Inquisitor.”

“No,” Cullen agreed mildly. “I don’t imagine it would be wise to accuse her of sulking.”

“To her or to him,” Cassandra confirmed.

Her tone implied that the conversation had gone poorly. Fin was generally the most even-tempered of the lot. He balanced Essa’s fire well, but he also yielded about as well as the steel he worked.

“He knows more than we do,” Leliana admitted, obviously unhappy about what was an unusual occurrence for her. “Perhaps you might succeed with him where we have not.”

Cullen blinked slowly at her. “If  _you_  were unable to intimidate the smith into giving you the information you need, what makes you think that I can?”

Josie waved her hand at him. “Isn’t there some sort of code among men?”

Cullen laughed. “We will pretend that there is. Do you really think it’s stronger than Fin’s loyalty to Essa?”

They turned as one pack to glare at him. He had broken protocol, calling the Inquisitor by name, reminding them all that they cared for her, and that theirs was more than a simple political concern.  Cullen sighed and held up both hands to ward off any further discussion.

“I am going to find Essa,” he vowed.

“She’s waiting,” Cole said, materializing suddenly in the center of the war table. “In the dark and the cool.”

They all startled at the spirit’s appearance. It was a mark of their growing familiarity with him that only Cullen’s hand tightened on the hilt of his sword.

“I forgot to knock,” Cole said sadly, ducking his head beneath the wide brim of his hat.

Cole had been doing much better about warning them of his impending presence.

“It’s alright,” Leliana soothed. “Can you tell us exactly where the Inquisitor is waiting?”

“Not you,” Cole said, not unkindly. “Him.”

He looked at Cullen.  “She’s angry,” Cole told him. “Doesn’t want the wanting of you.”

Cullen glanced away from the others, one hand coming up to rub at the back of his neck.

“Yes, well.” He cleared his throat. “I had better go.”

It was a tactical retreat, Cullen told himself, careful to exit the war room at the exact same pace he always did, no faster. No slower. It was difficult enough hiding weaknesses when Cole was around to blithely drag them into the light.

“She’s not your weakness,” Cole said, appearing in step beside him as if he had been there all along.

This time, Cullen didn’t respond with a flinch or reach for his weapon. He had learned that thinking of Cole was the same as calling to him. He also ignored the judgment. 

“She’s in my office?” Cullen asked instead.

Cole nodded. “Can’t talk to the Fin,” he explained sagely. “Blue can be green too, but different. No. His gaze was like moonlight on Hawthorne leaves. So many thorns now.”

Cole stopped walking, hand catching Cullen’s arm to draw him to a halt.

“She needs you,” he said softly. “The scar festers like a wound fresh and bright. Needs lancing, leeching, healing…”

The kid sighed. “She won’t thank you for it.”

Cullen nodded. “I don’t need her thanks,” he said.

Cole vanished and Cullen paused at the central door to his office. 

“No one,” he said to the guard at the door. “Is to disturb us. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, ser.”

“Tell the others.” There was a curt nod. Cullen took a deep breath and pushed open the door. “Inquisitor?”

He stepped into the cool, dark space and quickly shut the door behind him. The morning pulsed, soft and golden against the narrow windows, but it was too early in the day for the tower to be bright with light. Cullen peered through the heavy shadows.

“Essa?” He glanced at the ladder to his loft.

“I’m here,” she said with an angry sigh.

The words were somehow both muffled and echoing. Cullen walked behind his desk and stared down at emptiness beneath it.

“Why are you hiding under my desk?” he asked with what he hoped was an lack of inflection. “I thought you hated small spaces.”

Her feet emerged from the darkness, bare and stained with dirt. There were bug bites around her ankles and a jagged scratch across the top of her left foot.

“I do, but did you know,” she said conversationally. “That there isn’t a single place in this entire blighted keep that I can go to be alone? No matter where I go, Josie finds me. Or Fin, or Geri, or Blackwall, or Sera…”

Her list trailed off. “But you, Commander, you have left me completely alone for three days. That makes you my favorite.”

Her tone implied the position to be one of dubious value. Cullen unbuckled his sword belt, placed scabbard and weapon on the desk before him and then slid down to sit cross-legged before the small den she had chosen for herself. Though they were barely an arm’s length apart, he couldn’t see her. Cullen stared into the blackness and waited.

“You won’t wait me out,” Essa declared angrily.

“I know.” Cullen began removing his gloves.

He doubted there could ever be a winner in a contest between his and Essa’s wills, but this was hardly the time for that discussion.

“You came to my office, however.”  He placed his gloves on the desk with his sword. “So I do not think it unreasonable to presume that you wished to speak to me.”

He reached for her feet then, movements slow and leading. She shouldn’t have been surprised when he pulled them into his lap, but she flinched anyway. He realized that her eyes had been closed when a searing blue light lit the space beneath his desk. Cullen found himself gazing into Essa’s faintly glowing stare.

“Essa?” His hands tightened on her feet in uncertainty.

“I am very angry,” she said softly, voice entirely her own. “And I can’t shake it, Cullen. I’ve tried everything, including working myself to exhaustion, but I just can’t get past it.”

“Tell me what happened.”

He knew it was within her to refuse the gently given order, but he also didn’t think any of them—Essa included—had the time to prolong what was needful. She said nothing, and her stillness grew thick and acrid like smoke. Her feet warmed until they were uncomfortable to touch. Cullen held on, giving each foot an encouraging squeeze.

“You’ll burn yourself,” Essa threw the warning like a threat.

Cullen only held on tighter, pressing his thumbs into her arches with careful calculation. Essa’s breath rushed out on a moan that she quickly cut off. Cullen smiled when she tried to jerk her feet away in indignation. He watched the fire bank in her eyes, gave her a moment to realize that her skin had also cooled.

“How did you—?”

“Focus like ours can be useful,” he said with a shrug. “But it can also drive us mad. Distraction in small doses is helpful.”

She tried to move her feet away again. “My feet are dirty,” she pointed out, but they both knew it was a deflection.

“I don’t care about that,” Cullen reproved mildly. “If you really want me to let go, I will.”

She sighed at him loudly, but her feet remained, dirty and bloody, cradled in his hands. He felt her shift forward, heard a scrape of metal across stone, and watched as her hand appeared from the darkness, pushing a small metal object into the meager light. Her fingers were just as battered as her feet. She dropped a small coin-shaped object to the floor. Then her hand retreated.

Cullen picked up the medallion. It hung from a long chain; he let it swing toward the brighter dimness. The Stanhope coat of arms was embossed upon the tarnished silver.

“It was on my desk,” Essa told him, voice shaking ever so slightly. “With a letter reminding me that the anniversary of our joining was coming up.”

Cullen frowned. He knew that she had married—there weren’t many who didn’t given the tragedy of how Essa’s magic found her—but she would never celebrate that day.

And she would never need reminding of it.

“Was?” he asked, when all he wanted to do was track down the sender and make them pay for the tears he heard in her voice.

“It’s today,” Essa answered woodenly. “We would have been married ten years.”

She lifted one foot, nudging the medallion with her toe and sending the faint light bouncing away.

“And until I found this in with a bunch of personal correspondence I had  _nothing_  of him,” she said bitterly. “Do you understand? I have only ever had what memories I can carry.”

Her voice broke and it took all of Cullen’s self-control not to drag her from beneath his desk and into his arms.

“Just when—” She choked on a breath, and he heard a quiet sob cut short. When she spoke again, her words were barely above a whisper. “Just when I thought I might have the strength to carry new memories.”

There were long moments when neither of them spoke, each waiting for the other to break the quiet with more than their breathing.

“I almost threw it away,” Essa finally admitted. “But it was his. He was wearing it when I killed him.”

She made the confession so starkly that Cullen winced. His heart ached for her and part of him wondered how many times it would break before the end.

“You don’t have to carry anything or anyone alone, Essa,” Cullen told her.

“Not even Diar?” she asked in challenge.

Cullen shook his head. “Not even Diar.”

He lifted the medallion, dropped the chain down over his head. He heard Essa gasp as the coat of arms slid down behind his armor.

“You just let me know when you’re ready to have it back,” Cullen said.

He squeezed her feet again and a thousand words passed between them in the silence.


	6. Prepare the Board

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The chess match. Cullen x Essa. 1800 words. I attempted to meld canon script with my own. let me know how it worked. :D

Cullen hadn’t seen Essa since the night she fell asleep under his desk. It had been a strange honor, holding her worn feet in his hands while her silence slid slowly from heartbreak to a cautious sort of peace.  It hadn’t taken her long to drop off, as if Cullen had taken her every burden when he slipped her husband’s medallion around his neck.  He had left her there, knowing she could sleep anywhere without suffering for it, and in the morning she was gone, a small  _thank_ you scrawled on a scrap of parchment in the center of his desk.

The silver still lay beside his heart, a constant reminder of bonds he did not yet understand, but he had seen too little of Essa. She had been busy catching up to her neglected duties, and there had been no opportunities for them to speak in the short moments before and after the morning and evening war meetings.

“You could  _at least_  pay attention when I’m beating you this brilliantly,” Dorian complained, dragging Cullen from his thoughts.

He had found Cullen pacing distractedly around his office earlier that afternoon. After two nights of little sleep and filling too many of those hours with extra work, Cullen had nothing left that required his immediate consideration.

And it had been driving him a little mad, if he were completely honest.  

Dorian had taken pity on him, claimed the weather warm enough for them both to get some sun on their faces. Now Cullen was returning his kindness with a woeful lack of focus. He dragged his attention back to the board, marking the positions of pieces, retracing their turns. He hid a smile. Dorian had taken advantage of his distraction, more than once it seemed, but even half-playing, and with Dorian cheating, Cullen wasn’t doing badly.

“Gloat all you like,” he offered, moving a piece Dorian had inadvertently placed in an opportune position. “I have this one.”

Cullen didn’t bother to hide his smirk as Dorian’s eyes swept over the game, widening in mock affront.

“Are you  _sassing_  me, Commander? I didn’t know you had it in you.”

Cullen shook his head and muttered. “Why do I even—“ Then he spotted Essa. She was clunking cheerfully toward the gazebo in the boots that he had given her, a cautious smile in her eyes as she met his gaze. “Inquisitor.”

Cullen started to his feet and her smile spread to her lips in greeting.

“Leaving are you?” Dorian asked interrupting whatever she might have said. “Does this mean I win?”

Essa gained the last step into the gazebo, brow lifted at Dorian’s challenge as Cullen sat back down.She turned to Dorian with a grin. “Are you two playing nice?”

“I’m  _always_ nice,” he replied, sitting forward to make his next move. “You need to come to terms with my inevitable victory,” he told Cullen. “You’ll feel much better.”

Essa glanced down at the board, then quickly away, eyes sparkling as she bit back a laugh. She saw the flaw in Dorian’s move at the same moment Cullen did.

“Really?” Cullen was certain he had earned a little gloating. He knocked Dorian’s king on its side. “Because I just won, and I feel fine.”

Dorian shot him a withering look and Cullen chuckled, leaning back in his chair with just the sort of arrogance Dorian would be proud of. Dorian shook his head, but Cullen caught his smile before he hid it away.  Theirs had not been a great game. The two of them had scarcely wiled away an hour, but he appreciated Dorian’s intervention, even if he couldn’t say so.

“Don’t get smug,” Dorian ordered, as he rose to leave. “There’ll be no living with you.”

He paused long enough to drop an easy kiss into the air beside Essa’s cheek, murmuring something that had her grin stretching. Her cheeks rounded, eyes flashing with mirth until her smile nearly sealed them shut and laughter tore from her, a bright sound for which Cullen realized he had been desperately waiting.

“Oh, I did miss you,” Essa said, returning Dorian’s affection without touching him.

“Of course you did,” he returned. “You spent all winter in the wilderness without a single reminder of civilization. It’s a wonder we didn’t lose you to a pack of wild mabari.”

“Don’t make me hug you properly,” she threatened, regaining some of her lost composure. “I have just come from an hour stolen at the stables.”

“And you smell like your horses,” Dorian replied in feigned exasperation. He glanced back over his shoulder. “I don’t envy you, Commander. You might want to move upwind.”

Essa popped him playfully as he left.

“I should return to my duties as well,” Cullen said reluctantly.

“I don’t think I smell that bad,” Essa retorted playfully, lifting her tunic toward her nose.

Cullen chuckled, but her smile had already dimmed. She seemed more hesitant now that they were alone. Essa stared at the board, fingers reaching to trail over Dorian’s scant takings, eyes roaming over the placement of the final plays. He wondered if she had ever been taught the game. Perhaps by her father or once she was at the Circle.  There was still so much that they didn’t know about one another.

“Unless you would care for a game,” he offered, taking a chance.

Her gaze lifted to his again, and if confidence was lacking, curiosity was not. “Prepare the board, Commander.”

Essa proved to be a challenging opponent, though not for any of the usual reasons. He didn’t know how she prioritized her pieces, but it was not in the traditional order, that was certain. She was an abysmal player, and still the time passed more quickly and more easily than he had expected.  Essa made no mention of their troubles and Cullen followed her lead gratefully. They talked instead of their siblings, and he found, with a sorrow that he tried to hide, just how much he missed Mia, Branson, and Rosalie.

“I do not write to them as often as I should,” he admitted.

Essa nodded absently. She was leaning forward, eyes narrowed on the board. Sunlight tangled in the dark mink of her hair, glints of raw umber amid the burnt.

“It’s hard though,” she said softly. “You don’t know if they would recognize you. You’re not the child who left them. You’re not the adult you thought you would be.”

She glanced up at his silence, read admissions in his eyes that he wouldn’t grant his lips to speak.

“It’s the same with me,” she shrugged, committing to a move she didn’t seem to like. “Especially now. I don’t know who I will see reflected in Cari’s eyes this time.”

He knew her sister was coming to visit, and that she was looking forward to what time they might share, but he did not offer words of comfort and commiseration as easily as Essa did. She seemed not to fault him for it, simply nodded toward the board. Her foot nudged his beneath the table, and Cullen nearly startled.

“Ah, my turn.” He tried to cover his sudden nerves.

This was Essa, he reminded himself, glancing across the table at her.  She was by turns challenge and comfort and she was watching him, eyes wide and expression warm. He wanted to ask her what she was thinking. What manner of man did she see when she looked at him? She had told him once that all she saw when she looked at him was templar red, but she didn’t seem to hate him for it. And he still didn’t know who he saw, looking back at him from her eyes.

“Alright.” She licked her lips, shaped the word carefully as if something in his regard had trapped the word on her tongue. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

They returned to the board, letting heavier words drift unsaid as spring swirled bright and green through the garden.  Essa tipped back her head, drew in a long breath scented with freshly turned earth and new growing things. It teased her hair, threw heavy locks into her face as she lifted her chin further toward the breeze. Cullen wondered what would have become of her had her magic not found her. A mercenary, her letter had said, and a mercenary’s wife.

He had a hard time imagining that life for her.

Essa’s eyes narrowed the moment that she realized she had lost. Cullen hid a smile, reached past the move for another and was rewarded by her frown of consternation. She saw at least five moves ahead and he didn’t understand how she could see so far and yet try nothing to stop what was coming. He could tell much by how someone played. Dorian was an extravagant cheat and Leliana still couldn’t admit when she had met an opponent near her equal. Essa…well he wasn’t yet certain how Essa played.

“We should spend more time together,” she said, surprising him, surprising herself from the look on her face as the words left her mouth.

Cullen blinked, tried to remember the last thing he had said before he had been utterly distracted by the puzzle of her mind. He couldn’t remember, and he smiled ruefully as he was forced to answer her candid declaration with his own.

“I would like that.”

She tipped her head to the side, as if he had said something equally unexpected, eyes deepening to evening shadow. She had questions too. Of course she did. Cullen nodded once, tersely, in an attempt to reassure her.

She jerked her chin slightly, gaze crashing away before she said softly, “Me too.”

Cullen smiled. “You said that—“

“I know what I said before,” Essa grouched, interrupting him. Her heart was beating fast. He could see it leaping in her throat. “After our letters, after everything…”

She broke off, took the move he’d left her and closed in on his king. Cullen reached across the board and placed one hand on hers. Essa’s fingers tightened around his instantly, breath leaving on a sigh, as if all fight had momentarily abandoned her.

“After everything,” he repeated. “Even if I am utterly uncertain as to what that means.”

He coaxed a smile from her before releasing her hand.

“We should finish our game, right?” Essa pointed to the board with pursed lips, and Cullen laughed. “I believe this one is yours.”

“You let me win!” The words tore from her in a rush, laughter chasing away all earlier hesitance.

“I beg your pardon,” Cullen said, in what he hoped was a properly offended tone. “It was well played.”

“It was terribly played!” she giggled.

“Your strategies are unorthodox,” he admitted, as if he were considering them very seriously. “We shall have to try again sometime.”

“I don’t have a strategy!” Essa crowed, throwing her chevalier at him before collapsing into gales of laughter.

“The Maker knows that,” Cullen told her very seriously. “And I know that. But perhaps you might refrain from announcing that to the entire Inquisition?”


	7. Cari Trevelyan: Patience

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part Three. Character Intro. Cari Trevelyan arrives in Jader Krem Aclassi and the Chargers have been sent to meet her.

The woman who disembarked looked very little like the one who had boarded the  _Prydwen_. She did not know how long it would take to reach Skyhold from Jader, but she did not want to travel conspicuously across a region she did not know. Of course, Cari wasn’t entirely certain what would be inconspicuous for Ferelden. She had dressed in shades of brown:  long tunic, plain wide-legged trousers, sturdy ankle boots. She wore a knitted wrap in coarse, undyed wool, and broad brimmed hat to shade her face from the sun. It wouldn’t do for her to freckle. The Inquisition’s Lady Ambassador had instructed her to dress practically for hard travel, but Cari had never experienced such. She could only hope that Lady Montilyet’s assurance that her escort would see to her comfort was more than a platitude.

“Lady Trevelyan.”

The accent was spiked with Tevinter and the subtle tumble of gravel worn not quite smooth by time and water. Cari looked up in surprise. She had expected…well, suddenly she wasn’t entirely sure. Templars, maybe? Armed guards in ceremonial Inquisition regalia? She felt foolish now for her lack of imaginings.

“Krem Aclassi,” the soldier introduced himself, but he didn’t bow. 

He was only a little taller than she, with closely-shaved hair that was a little longer on top. He stood with the last vestiges of military bearing and she wondered how long he had been out, where he had served. His stare was too direct to be exactly polite, but if there was a challenge in his regard, Cari couldn’t help feeling that perhaps it was the reflection of her own. He offered his hand before seeming to think better of it. She was disconcerted to feel the sting of rejection.

“Lieutenant for the Chargers,” he continued brusquely. “The Herald sent us to bring you back to Skyhold.”

Cari smiled, allowed the expression to warm the cold reserve she too often relied upon.

“She has written me of you,” Cari told him, gaze sweeping out to note the other members of his entourage. “I did not expect the Chargers to be my escort.”

“Only the best for her worship,” Krem said, shrugging off the pride she almost heard in his voice.  He was proud of his company, and there was a touch of fondness in the way he spoke her sister’s honorific.  “And only some of us.  We’re less conspicuous than a bunch of shine and polish.  She sent you a horse.”

“There’s no carriage?” Cari asked, trying to hide her concern. “Or a wagon?”

“Didn’t think we needed one.” Krem frowned. “She said you were a practical sort. That you could ride.”

Cari sighed. “Yes, I can ride.” She turned, gesturing toward four large trunks and a stack of wrapped parcels. “They cannot.”

Krem’s frown deepened; he forced the scowl away, and Cari began to suspect he was a patient man.

“This is your idea packing for hard travel?”

The idea of it galled her. What sort of inconsiderate creature would pack so many personal effects?

“I have little idea of hard travel, Ser Aclassi,” Cari retorted.  She caught the lilt of fear hidden behind the hauteur in her voice and hid a grimace as she evened her tone.  “But if you must know, these are my sister’s belongings.”

Krem’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully, considering.  “Did you bring her books?”

So, Cari thought, in surprise. Krem Aclassi wasn’t just the most efficient leader for her escort. Essa had also sent someone close to her. Someone she trusted enough to be vulnerable around. Someone she trusted enough to tell about her precious books. She had not found such people in all her years at the Circle. Their father had offered more than once to bring Essa’s books to the library, to donate whatever might be needed to make a special collection in her name, but Essa had refused. Cari had been hoarding her books like a griffon’s clutch ever since.

“I did,” Cari replied carefully.

“Good.” Krem seemed to soften marginally in her direction. “She’s missed them.”

Before she could respond, he nodded to one of his company. Cari watched curiously as orders were given without words, and an entire conversation occurred with a handful of sliding glances and a grunt of answer. They had been working together for a while, she thought, as two of the men broke off from the group, and made their way into the dockside milieu.

“They’ll bring back something soon,” Krem told her.  “If you want, I’ll talk to the captain. I’m sure he’ll let you retake your quarters in the meantime.”

Cari shook her head. She had no interest in hiding on board like some delicate maiden. She had not been either of those for some time.

“I would like to walk the stalls.”  

She nodded away from the docks, toward the rows of brightly bedecked merchant stalls that lined the space between them and Jader’s First Row. She had not been able to do so before the  _Prydwen_ departed. Her mother had made certain she and her cargo were delivered directly to the ship. Had they any true loyalty to Lady Trevelyan, her escort would have accompanied her on the voyage as well, but it had not been difficult for Cari to bribe them on their way.

She expected Krem to refuse her, or at the least dissuade her. He did not seem the type to indulge a lady’s whims, and Cari had done yet to disabuse him of any notions of rank. She hadn’t time yet, nor completely decided if she had the inclination. Social trappings were useful. Most cages were.

Krem simply raised a brow before nodding another silent order to the last two members of his party. An elvish woman plunked unceremoniously atop one of the trunks. Her dark glower would have dissuaded any mischief by itself, but her companion, a man with golden hair and too many secrets in his eyes, matched her silent ferocity. He lounged indolently upon another.

“They’ll be fine,” Krem assured her, and Cari believed him. 

“Thank you.”

He acknowledged her gratitude with a small nod. “Shall we, my lady?”

Krem extended his arm, and Cari placed the tips of her fingers in the last breath above well-tended steel and leather.

“Thank you, ser.”

“Not ‘ser’,” he said gruffly. “It’s Krem. Cremisius if you need something formal. Though I hope you don’t.”


End file.
